


soldier, poet, king

by aceofsparrows



Category: The Dragon Prince (Cartoon)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Post-Canon, Book: Through the Moon (The Dragon Prince), Canon Compliant, F/M, M/M, Many many spoilers, Post-Book: Through the Moon (The Dragon Prince), Tags Subject to Change, lotsa lore i'm just making up on the fly
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-27
Updated: 2020-10-26
Packaged: 2021-03-07 15:50:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,092
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26670160
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aceofsparrows/pseuds/aceofsparrows
Summary: A month after the battle of the Storm Spire, things are settling into a new normal at the castle in Katolis. But when a mysterious woman shows up on King Ezran's doorstep claiming to be from a previously-unheard-of village in the mountains, our beloved trio and their friends are in for another adventure or two.**NOW "Through the Moon" COMPLIANT**(spoilers will be marked appropriately)
Relationships: Callum/Rayla (The Dragon Prince), Ethari/Runaan (The Dragon Prince), Soren (The Dragon Prince)/Isla (OC)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 25





	1. soren

There’s a girl in the courtyard. That’s not very weird– a lot of people live and work at the castle, so there’s always _someone_ in the courtyard– but this girl is just standing in the middle, looking around like she’s lost. 

“Uh, can I help you, Miss?” Soren asks, striding over to the girl. He’s got his armor on; once a Crown Guard, always a Crown Guard, even now during peaceful-ish times. 

The girl startles a little at his voice, but smiles as she turns to face him. “Yes, actually. I would like to see the King.” 

Soren blinks. “Uh, really?” 

The girl keeps looking at him, gaze level. “Yes. Is that a problem? I wasn’t sure who to ask…” 

“Uh, no, nope, not a problem at all! Actually, I’m the head of the Crown Guard, so I’m kinda the _perfect_ person to ask because, ya know, I kinda run things around here, so…” 

The girl just stares expectantly at him, so Soren clears his throat. “Anyway. You usually need an appointment, so I need to know _why_ you want to see His Royal Highness, the King.” 

The girl is at least three or four inches shorter than Soren, but she doesn’t seem to have trouble looking down her nose at him. “I come as an ambassador and to offer my services to His Royal Highness, King Ezran of Katolis,” she says, tone crisp and important. 

“Yeah, okay,” Soren shrugs. “Sounds official enough. Follow me.” 


	2. opeli

“Opeli! Just the woman I was looking for!” Soren calls from the other end of the long hall outside the throne room, and Opeli sighs. They’re on break from their weekly diplomacy meeting, and Opeli has just stepped into the hallway for a moment alone. She loves the king, of course, but he _is_ still a ten-year-old, and between the brief war and now a new position as the young regent’s advisor, she hasn’t slept properly in months. 

And now Soren’s here with a stranger. Great. 

“Hello, Soren. What do you need?” The cleric-turned-advisor asks, and Soren frowns. 

“Miss Ambassador here wants to see the king,” he explains, gesturing to the woman behind him. Opeli studies her; Soren, though a good solider and a kind heart, has a tendency to be a little _too_ trusting of strangers. 

The girl is hard to read; she’s wearing a long traveling cloak with a deep hood that’s still up despite the indoor heat, and what are visible of her features are arranged in careful neutrality. 

Who is she, and why does she want to see Ezran? 

“‘Miss Ambassador’? Ambassador from where?” She asks, arms crossed. 

Soren frowns. “Uh…” He looks back at the girl behind him, who sighs as if she’s not surprised he’s only just asking that now. 

“A small village East of here, Ma’am, on the far side of the mountains past the Weeping Bay,” the girl provides simply. The description is intentionally vague, but Opeli isn’t sure whether that’s because the girl assumes they wouldn’t know the village if she referred to it by name, or if she’s saving the more specific information for a later reveal. Quite possibly, it’s both. 

“And what is your business with the king?” Opeli asks, and the girl gives what seems to be another well-practiced answer. 

“I wish to declare my village’s allegiance to the new king, as well as offer my services and knowledge to His Highness and his court.” 

Opeli narrows her eyes, weighing her options. There’s nothing inherently threatening about the girl but she’s also not doing herself any favors by being so broad. Then again, they’ve dealt with worse before, and will have her vastly outnumbered if worst comes to worst. After all, one of the members of the meeting _is_ a retired assassin. 

“I suppose it’s your lucky day, Miss–” 

“Isla.” 

“– Miss Isla. The king has a moment for you just now.” 


	3. isla

For all her bravado and preparation, Isla is still surprised by the sight that greets her in the throne room. 

King Ezran is sitting on the floor when they– Isla, the guard, and the cleric– enter the long, grand room. Though never having seen the king before herself, Isla knows it’s him by the gold circlet with its uneven crosses that sits low on his small brow. He’s playing with a glow toad, laughing as it grunts, its reptilian skin shifting from yellow to orange to red and back to yellow. The king looks so very _young_ , and for a moment it gives Isla pause. Did she really make the right choice by coming here? She could have just stayed at home, safe and uninvolved in the affairs of the human kingdoms…

But no. She needs to do this. For all of them, not just her. 

“A visitor, your Highness,” the cleric announces, striding past Isla and the guard to return to the King’s side. Ezran looks up, hand stilled mid-air above his pet. 

“Oh, hi!” He says, giving Isla a small wave. The informal gesture rattles Isla slightly, but she doesn’t let it show on her face. Instead, she curtsies low like her grandmother taught her, head bowed. 

“I am grateful for an audience with you, your Highness,” she says, tone humble. 

“Uh…” Isla glances up from beneath the hood of her cloak to see the king stand hastily, as if he’s just realised he’s supposed to be a public figure and not a ten-year-old child. “How, uh, what– um…” He pauses, clearing his throat. “You may, uh, rise, I guess?” 

Isla chuckles; her legs were starting to protest the deep curtsey anyway. “Thank you, your Highness.” She straightens, finally getting the chance to take in the other people in the room. 

At the king’s right stand two men who look no more than four years older than Isla herself. They’re both dressed informally, one in the dark cornflower blue of the Katolian military, and one in shades of brown with lots of leather accents. They both seem intrigued by Isla, but apprehensive; most likely, they’re advisors of some sort, protective and important. 

To the left of Ezran are two other people, though they’re most definitely younger than Isla. One, the boy, must be Prince Callum; he looks slightly uncomfortable in his gold circlet, which is very similar to the King’s but marked in difference by the slanted edges of the crosspieces. The girl next to him however… 

Isla’s spent weeks doing research during her travels to the capital city. She’s spoken to innkeepers and highwaymen, travelling showmen and small-town veterinarians. All have agreed: the Princes, while returning the egg of the Dragon Prince to his mother in Xadia, travelled with an odd companion, swift of foot and somewhat poorly disguised. 

An elf. 

The girl next to Prince Callum is, very obviously, that elf. She’s tall, almost as tall as Isla, and slim, athletically built. There are rumors she was one of the assassins who came to the castle to kill King Harrow three and a half moons ago; Isla wonders now if those rumors were true. After all, the elf wears proudly under her eyes the purplish-blue ink typical of Silvergrove warriors. 

“What brings you to my throne room?” The King asks, and Isla refocuses. 

“I come to offer my services to the Crown, as well as to serve as an ambassador between your Highness and my people,” Isla recites. She hears, momentarily, her grandmother chide her for the emptiness of her words. _You’ve got to believe them yourself, child! How else will the King believe them?_

“Who are your people?” The king asks. “I’m guessing you’re not from one of the other human kingdoms?” 

Isla swallows. Her grandmother prepared her for this question too. “I come from the small coastal village of Caillte, over the eastern mountains and north of the Weeping Bay. We’re not on any map, but we are a community all the same, and we wish to be regarded as such.” 

To Isla’s surprise, Ezran’s face lights up at the mention of the Weeping Bay and the eastern mountains. “We went over those mountains on our way to Xadia! Callum, what was the name of that town we met Villads in?” He turns to Prince Callum, who shifts awkwardly, looking first to Isla, and then at his younger brother. 

“Uh, I don’t remember, Ez. But I’m guessing it wasn’t, um, _Caillte_.” 

Isla smiles. “Most likely not. We get very few travellers; we’re not easy to find.” 

“Why not?” The king asks, and Isla laughs. 

“I suppose you could say we’re very good at keeping out of the way, your Highness. Few know of us, and those who do don’t tend to share the information.” 

Ezran nods, though his little face is still scrunched slightly in comprehension. 

“You’re not telling us everything.” The elf girl is glaring at her, and Isla raises an eyebrow. 

“Oh?” 

“Yeah. You’re not telling us everything, and although everyone else here may be too nice to mention it, I’ve got no qualms about bein’ blunt. So I suggest you come clean, Miss Mysterious,” the elf says, distrust dripping from her words like acid. Prince Callum lays a gentle hand on her arm as if to hold her back, and she unclenches her fists, but doesn’t seem totally put at ease. 

Isla sighs. “I apologise, my Lady. This is my first mission of diplomacy and it seems I may have… misread the room. Maybe this will help things become a little clearer.” Taking a deep breath, Isla lifts her hood from her head. Then, amidst the gasps of the king and his council, she also removes her dark, heavy gloves, baring her hands to the room. 

“You’re– you have _horns_ ,” the man in the military uniform breathes, and Isla smiles ruefully. 

“An astute observation, sir. I also have four fingers, if that’s not enough of a defining feature for you.” She wriggles her digits in the redhead’s direction, demonstrating her lack of a pinkie finger. 

“You’re an _elf_?” Comes a voice from behind her– the guard, who’d she’d almost forgotten was there. 

“ _Half_ -elf… ish,” Isla corrects, tugging her gloves on again now that the display is over. She doesn’t miss how the military man frowns at the gloves and their distinct fifth finger; it’s a fake, she knows, a precaution she takes when travelling in human territory. Until very recently, four fingers was cause for execution in many parts of this side of the world. 

“You’ve got Moonshadow markings,” Prince Callum observes, and Isla nods. 

“My mother is Moonshadow, as is my grandfather.” 

“ _Wow_ ,” King Ezran says, eyes wide, face alight. “That is _so cool_.”

The cleric is frowning, however. “Moonshadow elves, living on Katolian land? How is it this is the first we are hearing of this?” 

“Like I said, we’re hard to find,” Isla says. “Many, many years ago, the first members of our village cast a basic illusion around our borders, making it unlikely travellers would find Caillte unless they were intentionally looking for it. We are a town of cast-outs and runaways, and we don’t like to make ourselves known.” 

“So why now?” Prince Callum asks. His hand has slid down the elf girl’s arm and is now intertwined with her’s; the small demonstration of unity and affection does not go unnoticed by Isla. 

“Because of you,” Isla replies simply. “You, Prince Callum, along with the King, returned the Dragon Prince to his rightful place and made peace between the human kingdoms and Xadia. Caillte decided it was time we came out of hiding and used our knowledge for good; if anyone knows how to coexist, it’s us, a village of elves and humans.” 

“And what do you want from us?” King Ezran asks, and Isla smiles.

“Nothing much. Just your blessing, mostly, to go forth and establish ourselves as an official community. And, if you so choose, I and my family are at your service with any and all queries about the relationship between Xadia and the humans. There is much of history that has been tainted by hate, and we hope to help you rewrite it with understanding instead.” 

Ezran looks at the people on either side of him. Reluctantly, they all nod. Well, everyone except the elf girl. But it seems to be enough for him regardless. 

“We would be honored, Miss…” 

“Isla. Isla Sutherland.” 

“– Miss Isla Sutherland.” 

“Thank you, your Highness,” Isla says, bowing her head once more in respect.

Ezran grins, hopping down from his small stone pedestal. “Please,” he says, tone light and playful. “Call me Ezran.” 


	4. rayla

“I don’t think you have to keep watch, you know,” the girl says, only her head visible above the bubbly, cloudy water of the bath. Rayla glares from where she’s seated cross-legged atop a heavy wooden chest. 

“What else am I supposed to do?” She snaps back, and the girl– Isla– shrugs, her bare shoulders disappearing once more under the water. It’s odd, yes, that Rayla’s sitting here watching her bathe, but what is she supposed to do? Leave her alone? Rayla doesn’t trust this strange girl yet, and she’s not letting her out of her sight just to preserve a bit of false modesty. 

“So your mum is Moonshadow?” Rayla ventures after a few moments of empty silence, and Isla looks up at her. 

“Yes,” she answers simply, and they stare at each other for an uncomfortable moment before Rayla looks away. Outside the leaded glass window the sun is setting, dappling the blue sky with streaks of pink and orange. 

“She was ghosted when she was seventeen,” Isla says after a long pause, and Rayla blinks, looking back at the her in surprise. Isla’s turning the bar of soap over and over in her hands, tracing swirls idly in its soft surface with a fingernail. “She’s never told me why, but I assume it was a misunderstanding. Moonshadow justice can be swift and ruthless, I’m told.” 

Rayla’s shocked by how calmly Isla speaks of such an important piece of personal information. Face still, hands calm, voice smooth. Then again, if Rayla looks closer she can see a muscle in Isla’s jaw clenching and unclenching, her ears downturned just slightly. It’s all a mask, a very clever illusion, one Rayla knows well. The Moonshadows’ worst enemies are pain and fear; they all wear a mask.

“What did your mother do?” Rayla asks, then hastily clarifies. “Before, I mean.”

At this, Isla smiles. “She was training to be a silversmith. She was very talented too, which is why I’ve never been sure why she was ghosted. That’s what she does at home, though. She makes just about everything for our village.”

Pleasant smile lingering on her lips, Isla lathers her hands with the bar of soap, running her sudsy fingers through her thick auburn hair. Then she ducks under the water to rinse it, surfacing a few second later with a gasping breath. The water has turned murky with the dirt and dust from her travels. 

“Do you… have a change of clothes I could borrow, maybe?” Isla asks, shivering slightly. Rayla blinks. 

“Oh, um…” She slides from her perch on the chest, darting into the other room to look for a nightgown or something in the wardrobe. Luckily there’s one folded at the back of a drawer, and it smells clean enough. It’s long and maroon with the little uneven towers of the Katolis crest embroidered in gold thread over one breast, and Rayla lays it on the chest when she returns to the bathroom. 

“Here.” 

Isla smiles. “Thank you.” Rayla gives her a little nod, and they have a moment of awkward standoff before Isla sighs and gives Rayla a pointed look. “May I have a moment, please?” 

“Oh! Uh, of course!” Rayla startles, turning her back and slipping out of the room to let Isla change. 

The older girl emerges a few minutes later, traveling clothes and cloak bundled in her arms, feet bare. The nightgown looks like it fits her well enough; she looks more regal than Rayla could ever feel in her borrowed pajamas (even if they are a spare pair of Callum’s, which makes her blush if she thinks about it too long). Rayla narrows her eyes when she notices an odd shape in the bundle, however. 

“What’s that?” She asks, pointing, and Isla bites her lip. 

“Oh. Well, I didn’t really _mean_ to keep it hidden, I suppose, but no one asked, so…” Carefully, she disentangles the shape from her cloak, and reveals it to be a long, thin rapier in a plain scabbard. There are little moons sewn in silver thread along the rim of the scabbard, circling in their phases, and the hilt of the rapier is delicately crafted silver, shiny from heavy use. It’s a beautiful weapon, one Ethari surely would have adored, but Rayla’s more preoccupied with the fact that Isla’s had it this whole time. 

“What do you mean ‘no one asked’?! Surely a sword like that isn’t something you just forget to mention and keep hidden in your cloak.” She scoffs. “And you said you came in peace and goodwill.” 

Isla raises an eyebrow, tucking the rapier under her arm. “Strong words coming from a former assassin,” she says dryly, and Rayla’s eyes widen. Isla chuckles. “You really don’t think I didn’t notice those blades tucked under your hood? Remember, elf– my mum’s a silversmith. I know how to spot a weapon as well as any other self-respecting young woman. And besides, did you expect me to come all this way without some sort of protection?” She pats the scabbard fondly. “I would never leave my rapier behind on a journey.” 

Rayla is still glaring, but she’s lost most of her anger and replaced it with a mix of awe and indignation. And maybe, just slightly, some kinship towards this odd older girl. After all, elf or not, someone with a weapon like that obviously knows how to use it, and now is not the time to test that skill. 

Besides, they have dinner to attend. 

“Alright,” Rayla acquiesces grudgingly. “But I’d better not see that thing out of its scabbard, you hear me? You’re being given a high honor getting to have dinner with the King and his family and all, and I wouldn’t waste it if I were you.” 

Isla nods, and Rayla figures that’s the best she can do. Turning on her heel, she leads Isla out of the bedroom along the corridors of the castle, the light quickly fading outside. 


End file.
